Thursday, May 15, 2008

I hate that my last post is just hanging out there, all sad and vulnerable, so I’m putting something else up just so you don’t think I’m still suspended in that state of mind.

I told J about everything, and I feel better. I gripe about him sometimes, but he really is pretty amazing.

He said he knew I’d been sad, he could see it (and I thought, “Wow, I guess I wasn’t faking it as well as I thought”, and after that I thought, “He’s my husband – I shouldn’t feel like I have to fake anything for him.”) I told him I was sorry for being such an ass to him over the past several weeks – I channeled my Sad into Mad, because that felt more productive. Does that make sense (or at least sound familiar) to anyone else? Like, “I can sit around and mope and be a weepy mess and get nothing done, or I can re-channel this into anger, which is at least a kind of energy, so my house and my life doesn’t totally fall apart.” And so that’s how I’ve been operating for the past 2 months, and Dude, no wonder I’ve been so tired – staying mad about essentially nothing all the time is hard fucking work. So (like a fool), rather than unburden myself, I held it all in and snapped at him over every little effing thing. My lovelies, hear these words and take them to heart: That is a stupid thing to do.

So we lay in bed the other night, and he held my hand tight as I cried and told him everything I’ve been holding on to. He asked why I hadn’t told him sooner, and that’s a question I still don’t have an answer for. I guess I was just afraid that saying it out loud would make it more real somehow. He admitted that he will never be able to feel as intensely about these things as I do – as a man, his experience is (and always will be) different. He suggested that I talk to our very good friend Erin, who has suffered an ectopic pregnancy, and has 3 beautiful little girls. I’m shocked that the idea had never occurred to me (and the fact that J could admit his inadequacy, but suggest someone who could better understand, made me fall in love with him a thousand times more).

So I’m feeling mostly better. I am convinced, though, that depression is like soap in a sponge – no matter how many times you clean it, you can never quite get it all out.